Out Of Time
by Helga Von Nutwimple
Summary: A Time-Turner Story. Hermione Granger has always stood up for the underdog, but when an accident sends her 20 years into the past, she finds her sympathies lie in strange places...
1. Prologue

"Very well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore finally said, his hand curling around the wand that lay on the desk in front of him. The briefest flash, and the gold chain dangled from his long fingers. "I trust you do not need to be reminded of its usage... or the necessity of hiding your possession of it?"  
  
"Certainly not, sir," Hermione replied, rising from her chair to take the Time-Turner from Dumbledore's hand. _If Umbridge knew..._  
  
She slipped the chain around her check, felt the familiar weight fall against her breastbone. She raised the pendant, slipping it inside her robes.  
  
"Lemon Sherbert?" The headmaster pushed forward a bowl, a small smile on his face.  
  
As always, Hermione marveled at Dumbledore's calm in a storm. "No thank you, sir."

----  
  
Hermione yanked her schoolbag higher on her shoulder, her mind working furiously. She hadn't been sure if Dumbledore would even let her borrow the device again, and it seemed prudent to determine _that_ before she wasted time planning in detail how best to use it...   
  
She certainly hadn't expected Dumbledore to hand it over without so much as a single question.  
  
Maybe he thought she wanted more time to study for her O.W.L.'s? No, Dumbledore wouldn't give one student that kind of advantage, would he? He knew she wanted it for something else.  
  
Although, she reflected, as she recalled how Ron and Harry had blown off working on Snape's assigned essay that morning... she was probably the only member of the student body who _would_ use extra hours of the day to study.  
  
"_Merlin's Beard_," drawled a sarcastic voice behind her. "Is Perfect Prefect Granger _late for class_?"  
  
"I have a note from the Headmaster, Malfoy," she sighed, willing her anger not to rise. "Don't even think about taking points off."  
  
Malfoy merely laughed. "Enjoy your last few days under Bumbledork's protection, Mudblood."  
  
Breathe. Breathe. "Malfoy, your insults are getting less imaginative."  
  
"Oh, really?"  
  
She saw movement in his wand pocket.   
  
"_Protego_," she muttered, and his Bat-Bogey Hex bounced harmlessly off of her.  
  
Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and she didn't need Legilimency - _how'd she get her wand out so fast?_  
  
"Not everything Muggle-made is to be sneered at, Malfoy," she grinned. "Sometime you might like to investigate the 'magical' properties of _duct tape_."  
  
She'd gotten the idea from Hagrid, after an examination of that umbrella he was always carrying around. With her wand taped to the inside of her robe sleeve, her reaction time even topped Harry's.  
  
Malfoy lunged. "_Expelli-_"  
  
"_Protego_," she muttered again, and then, for good measure...  
  
"_Riddikulus_," she added... and a group of Ravenclaw third-years who'd gathered to watch the scene burst into hysterical giggles.  
  
"Oh, _Malfoy_," she purred, taking in his sudden change of hair and clothing, "You didn't think it only worked on _Boggarts_, did you?"  
  
Malfoy -- now clothed and wigged in a perfect replica of Marilyn Monroe -- gaped at her, too paralyzed by fury to move, his chest heaving.  
  
Well, that took care of _that_ little problem. Hermione adjusted her bag again, heading down the hall, whistling "Diamonds Are A Girls' Best Friend" insultingly.  
  
_God, Harry and Ron really _were_ rubbing off on her..._  
  
"Oh, Mudblood?" Malfoy called in tones that were supposed to be commanding, but came out sultry and breathy. Hermione nearly burst into hysterical giggles when she realized the 'Monroe Effect' had extended to his voice.  
  
"It's _Miss_ Mudblood to you, but yes?" Hermione said airily, turning to face him.  
  
And everything went black.

----  
  
From outside Dumbledore's office, there came another thumping crash and bellow of rage.  
  
"That will be Weasley," McGonagall sighed.  
  
"Really," Snape hissed, glancing at the door. "I rather thought it was _Potter_ with the anger management problem."  
  
Umbridge's eyes flicked greedily from face to face.  
  
"Explain it again, Draco," Dumbledore said with quiet authority.  
  
"Granger... I... she _cursed_ me, made me look like a... a girl..."  
  
If McGonagall's lips twitched, no one chose to comment on it.  
  
"I was just going to get her back! It was a simple charm!"  
  
"A 'simple charm' does not cause students to _completely disappear_, Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick squeaked. "In fact, there are _no_ 'simple charms' that do..."  
  
"What did you cast, Draco?" Dumbledore continued.  
  
"I cast an... an enlargement charm..." Malfoy muttered.  
  
"Her teeth again, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
"No, I... I cast it on..."  
  
"He cast it straight at her chest," one of the Ravenclaw witnesses interrupted.  
  
"Thank you, Miss Nixon, there is no need to interrupt..."  
  
"You cast it at her... her _chest_, Malfoy?" Snape demanded.  
  
Umbridge suddenly giggled, a sound like fingernails against a blackboard.  
  
"You do realize, Malfoy," Snape said in cold fury, "That your... your filthy hormonal prankings could very well have acted on Granger's _heart_, not her _breasts_?"  
  
"I wasn't aware Granger had a heart," Draco snapped back... then lost some of his nerve under Dumbledore's gaze. "Anyway, it didn't quite hit her, it sort of... bounced..."  
  
Another small voice from the back of the room. "_And_ he screwed the spell up."  
  
"That will be _all_ for now, Miss Nixon...!"  
  
Dumbledore turned towards the slight Ravenclaw. "Bethany, what do you mean?"  
  
"He pronounced it wrong, 'cause his voice was all... funny. It's 'Engorgio', and that's not quite what he said. This blue stuff came out of his wand, and it hit Granger right between the..." Nixon stopped, blushing. "Right in the middle of her chest."  
  
McGonagall's mouth opened -- then her eyes flew to Umbridge, and it snapped shut again.  
  
Dumbledore suddenly looked grave.


	2. Der Deutschlehrer

Hermione's eyelids fluttered, finally opening painfully to a view of the ceiling.  
  
"Ow," she whispered, her hand sliding across the stone to cup the back of her head. She'd cracked it badly when she fell.  
  
Who knew? Malfoy had finally gotten good enough to knock her out. She wondered what spell he had used...  
  
She raised herself from the floor slowly, looking around. Malfoy was gone, the cowardly prat, what a surprise. She closed her eyes against the pain in the back of her head...  
  
And then yelped at a stronger, sharper pain in her chest. Her eyes dropped, widening at the small splotch of blood on her shirt. She put a hand to it, drew it away with a curse...   
  
_That was sharp..._   
  
"Oh, no," Hermione gasped, as realization struck. She grabbed the chain around her neck and fished out the smashed Time-Turner.  
  
_She'd only had it for minutes and she'd broken it!_   
  
Well, technically, _Malfoy_ had broken it... but she hadn't had to provoke him like that... and her a Prefect, too...  
  
She'd have to tell Dumbledore.  
  
Groaning, Hermione got to her feet, scooping up her bag, heavily retracing her steps back to the entrance of Dumbledore's office.  
  
"Chocolate Frogs," she muttered. Nothing happened.  
  
Wow, he'd changed the password quickly.  
  
"Every-Flavor Beans? Fizzing Whizbees? Jelly Slugs?"  
  
That did it. She ascended the stairs, knocking on Dumbledore's door.  
  
"Come in..."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, I'm so sorry, you're going to be so angry at me..."  
  
"Well, I doubt that strongly," Dumbledore smiled, putting the tips of fingers together. "But you might start with telling me exactly who you are?"

----

Hermione gaped. What had Malfoy done to her? Some kind of Memory Charm?  
  
"Sir... I'm... I'm Hermione Granger, I'm-I'm in Gryffindor, I'm one of your fifth-year prefects..."  
  
"I am very much afraid that you are not," Dumbledore replied, "Either a prefect or a student at this school."  
  
"Malfoy!" Hermione spat. "Sir, he's put some kind of charm on me, he's made everyone forget me..."  
  
Dumbledore's eyes took on a strange light. "Perhaps you ought to have a seat."  
  
Hermione dropped into a chair, her head aching. "Maybe... Sir, could you call for Harry? He might..."  
  
"Harry Elkins?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"Harry _Potter_..." A horrifying thought occurred to her. "You... you haven't forgotten him, too, sir?"   
  
"I'm afraid I don't know a _Harry_ Potter..." Dumbledore mused. "Perhaps you mean Harry Manticore, or perhaps _James_ Potter?"  
  
"So you do know of James Potter," Hermione said with relief. Here, at last, was a thread she could pull at.  
  
"Certainly... shall I summon him for you?"  
  
"Summon... summon... you can _summon_ James?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Well, he ought to be in Potions right now... I think he'd be quite glad for the distraction..."  
  
"James c-can't be in P-Potions," Hermione stammered. "He's... he's _dead_... he's Harry's _father_..."  
  
Dumbledore peered at her then, seemed to see through her...  
  
And stood up to Silence and Ward the door.  
  
"I had thought this was a prank," Dumbledore said quietly. "I see that it is very much not. Hermione Granger, was it?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"May I ask... what year it is?"  
  
"It's... It's 1995, sir."  
  
Dumbledore blinked. "Miss Granger... I'm afraid it's 1975."  
  
He let that soak in for a moment, waiting patiently for her eyes to clear. "Have you any idea how this might have happened to you?"  
  
Hermione's mind whirled... and then she set the broken Time-Turner in front of Dumbledore.  
  
"I see," Dumbledore said quietly, prodding it with his wand.  
  
"Sir -- this is your Time-Turner. You let me borrow it. Couldn't another be used to send me back?"  
  
"I... I let you just _borrow_... a Time-Turner?" Dumbledore was clearly quite shocked. "The Ministry..."  
  
"You, ah. You've... um," Hermione bit her lip. "You've become somewhat... _disinterested_ in the rules of the Ministry. Where... _when_... I'm from."  
  
"You are handling this with remarkable calm, Miss Granger."  
  
"I'm... a little used to weird stuff."  
  
Dumbledore let out a small, wry laugh. "Well, you did say you were friends with a Potter..."  
  
Suddenly, the Headmaster's face fell, his gaze turning serious. "_Friends with a Potter_..." he mumbled to himself, and then, "I wonder..."  
  
The Headmaster rose, opened a book. "Aha. As I suspected. The school has recognized you."  
  
"I'm... I'm sorry?"  
  
"The school has recognized that you belong here, Miss Granger; you're appearing in the Registry. Fifth-year Gryffindor, just as you said... although no longer a prefect. I can even give you your class schedule, if you like..."  
  
How could he joke at a time like this? "Sir... Headmaster... I'd _like_ to be sent back."  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, at the moment. To my knowledge, a Time-Turner has never done this before... and I do not currently own one. Applying for permission from the Ministry to obtain a Time-Turner, let alone _experiment_ with one, will be... _difficult_. As will be explaining your sudden appearance..."  
  
He shot Hermione another piercing gaze. "Miss Granger, do you speak any foreign languages?"  
  
"I learned a little Spanish in my Muggle School... and a bit..." Hermione flushed, "A bit of German..."  
  
"A bit of German?"  
  
"I... dated a student from Durmstrang. Briefly."  
  
"And are you reasonably familiar with the school? Enough to pretend to be a transfer student?"  
  
"Victor described it fairly well in his letters..."  
  
"Very well. I think we have a temporary solution, at least to the difficulty of you being here..." Dumbledore crossed to the line of portraits, whispering a soft order... then paced his shelves, taking down a box. "Would you mind putting this on, please?"  
  
Dumbledore was holding out a small opal ring. Hermione took it, watching as the colors shifted into each other. "Does which finger matter?"  
  
"It does not, although I suggest one you will be comfortable leaving the ring on. You should not take it off while you are here."  
  
Hermione slid the ring on, a cold sensation followed by gut-stabbing pain. She'd felt like this before... the night she, Ron, and Harry had taken the Polyjuice Potion...  
  
She felt something brush against her cheek, and realized it was a ringlet of hair... a long, black ringlet, growing before her eyes to snake over her shoulder and down to her waist...  
  
"I'll need to modify the charm, a bit," Dumbledore said, "To include the accent..."  
  
"Why...?" Hermione gasped, her insides still on fire.  
  
"People will remember you, Hermione. It's best the person they remember neither looks nor sounds like you."  
  
There was a knock at Dumbledore's door.  
  
"Ah, excellent... although I wasn't expecting him so promptly." Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger... a bit of hiding might be in order..."  
  
A large portrait opened in the far wall of Dumbledore's office as the knocks grew louder.   
  
Still clutching her stomach, Hermione went through it.  
  
The portrait-hole closed behind her, and Hermione found herself alone in Dumbledore's quarters.  
  
She almost forgot the abating pain in her wonder at _all the books_. She moved, instinctively, towards the nearest shelf...  
  
And then her eye was caught by a portrait... a portrait mimicing her movements exactly.  
  
A portrait of someone in the same room...  
  
A mirror.  
  
Heavy black curls fell to her waist; when she raised her eyes, they were bluish grey in skin much paler than her own. She seemed to be a little taller, too; a glance down at the hem of her uniform confirmed this... and also explained the source of the pain that had not gone away.  
  
Hermione performed a muttered Transfiguration on her school clothes, enlarging them in the areas where they had become painfully tight.  
  
_What if I never get to go back?_  
  
Fluttery panic rose within her, and she forced it down. She didn't have time to waste on senseless worry when she had so many legitimate things to worry about. She was trapped in another time -- a time that she, yes, might never get back from -- but also a dangerous time, and not just because Voldemort was on the rise...  
  
She could mess things up here. _Badly_.   
  
Harry's dead parents were here. Sirius. Lupin. Even Pettigrew -- how would she be civil to _him_? Even -- wasn't Bill Weasley here? And possibly Lucius Malfoy... how old was he, anyway? She could mess everything up, she could prevent Harry's parents from falling in love, she could prevent Harry from _existing_, Voldemort from being stopped...  
  
Or could she? If she'd already messed things up, wouldn't they be messed up in her mind now? How could she remember a boy called Harry Potter if she'd prevented him from existing... or would? Hadn't Harry seen himself cast that Patronus two years ago?  
  
God, it made her brain ache.  
  
These were all questions for Dumbledore...   
  
She moved back over to the portrait-hole, noticing with a soft inhalation that she could see straight through it into Dumbledore's office.  
  
Dumbledore sat, deep in conversation with another student, who she could only see from the back. She noted the glossy black hair tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, the casual elegance of his stance, the graceful arch of his hands and forearms, disappearing into rolled-up dress sleeves. Something about him was very familiar...  
  
_Sirius?_  
  
Dumbledore looked at her then, seemed to see her through the painting. "Why don't you join us, dear?"  
  
_Dumbledore, no... don't introduce me to Sirius, of all people..._  
  
The portrait swung open, and she walked up beside the boy, keeping her eyes on Dumbledore, trying to will him to read her mind. Instead, he reached out and tapped her ring with his wand.  
  
"Hello," said Sirius. His voice was deep, his syllables crisp, like tailored black velvet, not what she remembered, but then... _this_ boy hadn't spent years in Azkaban... and it _was_ strangely familiar...  
  
"Hello," she replied... shocked to find her own voice changed, a hint of accent added, a subtler version of Krum's attempts at English. She tried to avoid meeting Sirius' gaze, concentrating instead on his necktie...  
  
His... _silver-and-green_ necktie...  
  
_Sirius_ had been in _Slytherin_?   
  
Well... he _was_ a Black, after all... and pretty cunning, when you really thought about it... she'd just assumed...  
  
"I suppose we should go," Sirius said, stiff-formal as a butler. This didn't mesh with her memories, either...  
  
The boy turned, and she glanced back at Dumbledore, who nodded.  
  
She followed Sirius out and down the stairs.  
  
She'd been afraid of a million questions -- Sirius was endlessly curious -- but he seemed content to walk in silence. Perhaps Dumbledore had explained it all for him, including the importance of not talking to her...? Of course, when had Sirius ever listened to Dumbledore?  
  
Of course, her own lips itched with a million questions of her own. What Harry wouldn't give for this opportunity!  
  
Where was Sirius taking her, anyway? Someplace Dumbledore wanted her hidden?  
  
They reached the foot of the stairs, turned left... when a voice stopped Sirius in his tracks.  
  
"Why, Snivelly... don't _you_ look pretty today...!"  
  
Hermione looked up, instinctively wary. _Malfoy_.  
  
No, no... not Malfoy at all. The resemblance was there, but this boy's hair was black, not blonde, and his eyes were familiar...  
  
"Nice to see you finally figured out what a bar of soap is for," the boy continued.  
  
"I'm on a task for the Headmaster, Black," Sirius sighed. "I suggest you leave me alone for the moment."  
  
_Black?_  
  
Hermione's eyes flew to the boy who'd made the comments, noting the Gryffindor colors, mentally aging his face.   
  
_That_ was Sirius! Then who was...  
  
She turned her gaze on the boy she'd assumed was Sirius, taking in his neatly tied-back hair, his pale skin, his impossibly long eyelashes over nearly black eyes, his thin lips, his...  
  
_His slightly hooked nose..._  
  
No way. No way. This boy was way too attractive, too _clean_, to be...  
  
"Snivelly giving you trouble, Padfoot?"  
  
_Harry_. No, no, no, not Harry... _James_... was loping down the hallway, a very Weasley-Twin glint of pre-mischief in his eyes.  
  
"No trouble, Prongs," Sirius -- the real Sirius -- said casually. "Apparently, he's being the Headmaster's fetchit boy today. On his best behavior, and with a little lady friend to boot!"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Padfoot," James laughed, "Snape can't get a lady friend."  
  
So it _was_ Snape. And why were James and Sirius being such prats? She knew Sirius especially didn't like Snape, but...  
  
A horrible thought occurred to her. Had she ended up in some... other dimension, some other timeline completely? Snape was tidy, had been -- well, not friendly, but certainly polite -- and James and Sirius were being awful.  
  
"Although..." James added, letting his eyes travel all over her body in a way that made her shudder, "I gotta say, Padfoot -- it's truly amazing what Snivelly can do with a _mobilicorpus_ spell."  
  
Oh, that was just _disgusting_...   
  
"Are you quite finished?" Snape said coldly... and now Hermione was _sure_ it was him.  
  
Snape took off down the hall at a furious pace, and Hermione struggled to keep up with him.  
  
"Um, Pro-"  
  
Oh dear god, she'd almost called him Professor Snape.  
  
Snape halted. "Yes?"  
  
"I never... I was never told your name."  
  
"Severus Snape." He did not extend a hand for her to shake... if anything, he seemed to recede further into himself.  
  
"I'm Hermione..." She stopped, biting her lip. Fabulous. Well, at least she wouldn't have to worry about not answering when called for... "Hermione Klum."  
  
She nearly slapped herself on the forehead. Well, at least it went with the accent.  
  
"Nice to meet you." And he started walking again.  
  
"I was wondering... Pr... _Severus_..."  
  
How bizarre to call Professor Snape by his first name!  
  
"I was wondering where we were going?"  
  
"The Slytherin common room. I would imagine the house-elves have your room ready by now."  
  
"S-Slytherin? But..."  
  
One eyebrow arched in Snape's somehow regal face. "Yes?"  
  
"I'm not..."  
  
"Virtually all transfer students from Durmstrang are sorted into Slytherin," Snape said, not unkindly. "And it will keep you closer to me."  
  
"B-but, w-why?"  
  
"Why me?" The corners of Snape's mouth turned up sardonically, giving Hermione another chill of deja vu. "One: I speak German, I'm to improve your command of it while you're here. Two, being seen with me will prevent you from getting... _inconveniently popular_."  
  
"Dumbledore told you that?" Hermione gasped, horrified.  
  
"No, Dumbledore told me to teach you German, help you out, and help you keep a low profile. But I'm not _stupid_." And Snape stomped off down the corridor once more.  
  
Hermione trotted after him, unable to believe she suddenly felt so sorry for _Snape_, of all the horrid people...  
  
"Severus," she wheezed, finally catching up. "I don't... I don't think that's why Dumbledore asked you to do this."  
  
He wheeled on her. "Oh, really? Then why am I picked as your 'German tutor' when there are others far better at it than I?"  
  
"Because..." Hermione thought fast. "Because, Severus... I need - I really need your help - to be kept away from... certain people."  
  
The eyebrow went up again.  
  
Hermione lowered her voice. "I need... to be kept away from Potter, Severus. And Black, and Lupin, and Pettigrew. Probably Evans, too. And Weasley," she added, stabbing in the dark.  
  
"What did they do to you?" Snape asked, the low grumble of his voice with a hint of danger.  
  
"Nothing... yet. But I really need to avoid them. I... I can't explain."  
  
"Dumbledore picked me to... to _protect_ you from Potter and Black?"  
  
"That's my guess." After a thought, Hermione added, "I saw how you handled them back there. I guess things like that are why."  
  
Something odd flickered across Snape's face. Pride? Hope? Pleasure? Whatever it was, it changed his face, made it...  
  
_Hermione Granger_, she told herself sternly, _you did_ not _just find Professor Snape attractive_!  
  
"I don't know how useful I'll be to you," Snape said slowly. "But I'll... try."  
  
He gave her what might have been -- on anyone else -- the ghost of a smile, and turned again down the hallway.  
  
Hermione let out a sigh of relief. That was -- at least -- a partial solution to her problem. James, Sirius, and the rest would see her as the enemy now, just another Slytherin. There would be no awkward questions, like _Hey, does Voldemort kill me?_ or _Do I wither away in Azkaban?_   
  
Of course, Harry would be disappointed, but... better disappointed than never born, right?  
  
Maybe she'd wake up tomorrow and this would all have been a dream... or Dumbledore would have found a clever way to send her back. Just in case, she'd head over to the Library tomorrow...


	3. Defined By Our Choices

"We get our own rooms?" Hermione gasped as the door swung open.  
  
"You want to be asleep and defenseless in a room full of Slytherins?" Snape replied, eyebrow soaring.  
  
Had Professor Snape just made a _joke_?  
  
"I suppose not," Hermione smiled weakly. "So... everyone gets their own?"  
  
"Indeed. With a password-protected door. I suggest changing your password often, but most of us put up wards as well."  
  
She searched Snape's face. This time, he appeared to be quite serious.  
  
"Can you, uh..." Hermione fought a blush. "Can you come in for a minute? And shut the door?"  
  
_Professor Snape in her bedroom. She could just hear Ron ranting now..._  
  
There went the eyebrow again, but Snape stepped inside, closing the door with a wand-wave and, for good measure, put a Silencing charm on the door.  
  
"What did you wish to discuss?" he asked, folding his arms.  
  
"What... exactly... did Dumbledore tell you?"  
  
"He told me that you were being offered sanctuary at Hogwarts for a short while, and that in the interests of your safety, you were to pretend to be a Durmstrang transfer student. He told me to teach you enough German to make that pretense believable, to keep you near if possible, and to take you to Hogsmeade tomorrow for supplies. That is all."  
  
"We're going to Hogsmeade?"  
  
The corners of Snape's mouth twitched. "You seem somewhat... lacking in luggage. Unless you were planning to streak the hallways...?"  
  
Another joke?  
  
"No, I... clothes would be... g-good," Hermione couldn't control her blush this time. _Clothes would be good?_ How _incredibly_ lame...  
  
Snape studied her intently, taking her in, assessing. His eyes traced the same path James' had earlier, but the effect was different; Hermione found herself with an urge to improve her posture, not slap him.   
  
"You're _not_ a Slytherin... or anything remotely like one, are you, Krum?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Of course I..."  
  
She was going to say _of course I'm not_, given her Gryffindor robes, but a look down showed her that they, too, had changed. Had all this happened when Dumbledore tapped her ring?  
  
"I... I suppose you think all this very strange," Hermione whispered.  
  
"I don't enjoy questions about my private life, so I don't presume to query others," Snape murmured. "I merely wondered how long you were going to last before you were eaten alive..."  
  
"Eaten alive by...?"  
  
Snape ignored her, surveying the room. "However, Krum... I see _no_ luggage here at all. Are there items you need to borrow?"  
  
Hermione could only gape.  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. "A toothbrush? Something to sleep in, perhaps?"  
  
"I... _yes_."  
  
"I'll be back in a moment," Snape said simply, walking out.  
  
----  
  
Hermione set the toothbrush down on the edge of sink, marveling again at the Slytherin perks. The bathroom was tiny, certainly... but it was her own, in private.  
  
_Of course... would I rather share a sink, or have housemates so untrustworthy I can't even shower around them?_  
  
She wasn't sure which was weirder... that she was undercover in the seventies as a German Slytherin, or that she was about to go to sleep in Snape's shirt.  
  
Hermione unclasped her robe, her fingers fumbling over the unfamiliar Slytherin catch, tossing it on the bed next to the shirt Snape had brought her.  
  
Snape was being so... bizarre. She was used to him surly, curt, condescending; it was in these moments that she had felt comfortable around him in their walk down to the dungeons.  
  
Loaning her things, making little jokes... _that_ distressed her, made her tongue freeze in her mouth, made her gape at him like a goldfish.   
  
She pulled her blouse over her head, setting to work on her socks. Snape hadn't _looked_ right, either. What had Sirius said?  
  
_Why, Snivelly... don't you look pretty today...!_  
  
Curious. She reached for the shirt Snape had loaned her, raising her arms to slide it over her head.  
  
Hermione let out a little sigh at the softness of it, like the old, washed-to-bits t-shirts she'd worn as a child. It smelled nice, too... exotic, rather, spicy and mysterious...   
  
_Before you get any girlier_, Harry's voice laughed in her head, _you do realize that's probably Snape himself you're smelling? Surely he's already good at Potions..._  
  
And now Hermione did laugh at herself. That was twice today she'd gone a little goony on Snape; Ron would have fits.  
  
He just seemed... so much less _creepy_, somehow. The Snape she knew would have leapt down her throat for staring at him like a cow in response to a direct question. And yeah, maybe rolling his eyes wasn't the _nicest_ reaction, but it was definitely... _different_.  
  
And Snape wasn't _that_ bad looking at _all_. Sure, his nose was -- well, _prominent_ was the nice word -- but it seemed to _suit_ him, made him look... _interesting_, a bit dark, sort of... _intriguingly intense_, sort of...  
  
_Krum-ish, Hermione? But less annoyingly obsessed with Quidditch?_  
  
Again with the blushing.  
  
_Or is the word you're looking for 'Heathcliffian', perhaps?_  
  
Oh, now, that was hardly fair...   
  
_People do change in twenty years, Granger_, she told herself. After all, she'd barely recognized Sirius. Azkaban had changed _his_ looks almost completely. She knew Snape had spent time among the Death Eaters, plus more time as a spy... what would _that_ do to someone?  
  
The things he'd had to do to survive in the Dark Lord's service... how much had that changed him?  
  
_Hermione_, her mind warned again. _Cute in a weird way or not, this Severus Snape will be joining the Death Eaters of his own free will in about two years... so don't go cuddling him yet, okay?_  
  
Unless... unless she really _was_ in some kind of alternate universe. Sirius had been so... so _cruel_, and James had been quite disgusting, honestly. Dumbledore didn't own a Time-Turner, Snape was being practically _sweet_... well, for Snape, anyway.  
  
Hermione lay down on the bed, drawing the green curtains around her. If only she could get to the Muggle world, perhaps she'd be able to draw better conclusions; things at Hogwarts seemed to stay largely the same, year after year.  
  
Well, except the staircases.  
  
The thought of the Muggle world led her to imagining Professor Snape doing the Hustle in a pair of bell-bottoms, and she suppressed a giggle.  
  
_Granger, you don't have time for this. You've got a backstory to concoct -- no, two; one for Snape, and one for the rest of the school. You have to pretend to be German, pretend to be..._  
  
Her heart skipped a beat. No Muggle-borns were allowed into Durmstrang -- _or_ Slytherin.  
  
_Fantastic_, she thought sarcastically. She'd done a little reading on the Wizarding families -- Grimmauld Place had been full of books on the topic -- but not nearly enough to pretend to be one of them. And as inbred as they were, she'd probably claim to be a member of the Most Noble House Of Whatever, only to discover she was talking to her supposed second cousin.  
  
Her head was hurting again. Maybe she could get Dumbledore to petrify her and stick her in his closet until they figured out a way to get her back...  
  
Then Hermione's eyes flew wide.  
  
If they sent her back to precisely the moment she left...  
  
She was going to get to take her fifth-year _twice_. She could have a non-rubbish Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. Maybe... maybe there was even someone good teaching Divination! She could take over any classes she had difficulty with, and add classes to replace the ones she was confident in! _Twice_ as much time to study for her O.W.L.'s! _Twice_ as much homework to prepare her!  
  
_There_ was her answer. She could throw herself into schoolwork, completely let out her inner Know-It-All. It had disgusted Harry and Ron properly when they first met her, it would surely revolt "The Marauders"...  
  
Of course, there was Snape, who it seemed she'd be spending a lot of time around, but... honestly, Professor Snape was so mysterious she didn't have much she could accidentally tell him. As long as she kept her mouth shut about Death Eaters, there wasn't really any damage she could do _there_...  
  
And it might be _fun_ to get to know Professor Snape a little bit. She'd always had to respect him, grudgingly -- creepy or not, the man was a master at his craft. If he hadn't been so inapproachable, she'd have loved to find out more about what he knew...  
  
She found herself drifting off, that warm spicy scent in her nostrils, thinking about the curve of his hands, the precision with which he spoke, the way his eyelashes lay heavy on his cheeks...  
  
----  
  
"I thought I told you to ward the door."  
  
Hermione's eyes opened, reluctantly. "Huh?"  
  
"I-thought-I-told-you-to-ward-the-door," Snape repeated, slower for the stupid.  
  
"Oh... I guess I... kinda forgot..."  
  
"Krum, if you are in as much danger as Dumbledore intimated you were, the fact that I am now standing two feet from your face is a poor sign indeed for your continued survival."  
  
Hermione cracked the drapes. Snape stood on the other side, arms crossed, glowering.  
  
"Check yourself for hexes."  
  
Hermione pulled the drapes aside, stumbling out of bed, running her hands through her hair and suddenly remembering she had twice as much hair to do that to. "Do I look hexed?"  
  
A funny look crossed Snape's face, his voice slightly unsteady. "N-no."  
  
"Oh, good." She yawned, stretching her arms above her head. Snape's face took on an expression quite near panic.  
  
"Come out when you're dressed," he spat, exiting quickly.  
  
Weird. Hermione stumbled to the mirror, noting with a sigh that all that nicely-curled hair she'd had the night before was now a total mess. No wonder Snape had looked at her funny... and, of course, she didn't have a hairbrush...  
  
She looked at her ring, a thought occurring to her. She slipped it off her finger, back on...  
  
The face reflected in the mirror was surrounded by flawless ringlets.  
  
"Oh, I _so_ need one of these," Hermione muttered under her breath, grinning.  
  
She crossed to the chair, reaching for her robe, noticing the red-and-gold tie underneath it.  
  
_Red and Gold?_ Uh-oh...  
  
But the minute she touched the tie with her hand, its colors began to change... by the time she held it in her fist, it dangled silver-and-green.  
  
She was officially impressed with the ring now... and apparently, she'd be hiding this set of clothes after her shopping excursion today.  
  
_You know... of all the girls in my year, I'm the only one who's never gone to Hogsmeade with a boy. I guess I'm changing that now..._  
  
She got a mental image of her and Snape snogging in Madame Puddifoot's, and had to choke down a hysterical giggle.  
  
"Krum..." a voice called from outside her door. "I do believe we were meant to go at some point _today_..."  
  
----  
  
"Divination's utter rubbish, don't even bother," Snape proclaimed as they climbed the dungeon stairs. "You'll have to take 'History of Magic', I believe, but Binns removes all need to ever brew a Sleeping Draught..."  
  
Snape's cold silence had broken the moment Hermione had asked his opinion on which classes she ought to sign up for.  
  
_Bad-mouthing the teachers at Hogwarts... I should have known he'd have _some_ of the same interests..._  
  
"Transfiguration, though... McGonagall's quite good. She's head of Gryffindor..." Snape's mouth turned down at the word, "... so you'll have to work twice as hard for her approval, but she does know her subject well..."  
  
"What about Potions?" Hermione asked innocently.  
  
Snape didn't answer immediately, nodding politely as they passed a thin, mousy-haired woman, whose bulging eyes traced their every step suspiciously.  
  
"Good Morning, Mrs. Norris," Snape murmured, then turned back to Hermione. "Oh, _Potions_... if you've a brain at all, Krum, you'll find it's taught _far_ too slow. It's worse for us, we have it with _Hufflepuff_, they're constantly asking the _stupidest_ questions... it's like they just want the teacher to know that they've been listening..."  
  
Hermione flinched; she'd squashed the same unkind thought in her own classes with Hufflepuff.  
  
"Krum," Snape whispered fiercely, "Stop that."  
  
"Stop... what?"  
  
"Stop looking _wounded_ at every less-than-angelic comment that escapes my lips! If you're going to be a Slytherin, _act like one_!"  
  
Hermione met Snape's eyes, swallowing hard. He was right...  
  
"So... Hufflepuffs are the stupid ones?" she asked, adding just a sprinkle of Malfoy to her voice.  
  
And Snape... _grinned_.  
  
_He should do that more often..._  
  
"Not _just_ stupid, Krum," Snape's lips twitched. "Pansies. Mustn't forget the Pansies."  
  
_She was beginning to be able to tell when Snape was joking._  
  
"Pansies. Right." They began to walk again, matching pace. "And Ravenclaws?"  
  
"Insufferable know-it-alls, of course."  
  
Right. Hermione's eyes twinkled. "And the dreaded Gryffindors?"  
  
"Self-important braggarts who think they're above the rules."  
  
Hermione laughed. "And all Mudbloods need to die, of course..."  
  
It was Snape's turn to flinch, all the humor instantly draining from his face. Hermione flushed, their game suddenly over, their temporary bond broken, feeling like the person left bellowing something embarrassing when the rest of the crowd goes quiet for no reason.  
  
"Uh... or not?"  
  
"No-no," Snape said quietly. "That's a perfectly Slytherin attitude. I'm just not... fond of the word."  
  
_Since when?_  
  
"I-I'm sorry, I was just... j-just trying to play along..."  
  
"We should pick up the pace," Snape said, lengthening his stride so it was hard to keep up.  
  
"Sn... Severus... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to offend you..."  
  
"You didn't offend me, Krum." Snape's back-off voice had returned. "I hear that word quite frequently, you merely startled me."  
  
_Then why have you suddenly shut me out?_  
  
Hermione continued to trot alongside him. "I'm just... I thought all Slytherins..."  
  
"I'm not a particularly good Slytherin," Snape spat, his jaw clenched. "Although, I must say, I get better by the year."  
  
"But the Sorting Hat..."  
  
Snape whirled. "Wanted to put me in Gryffindor. Tell anyone that, Krum, and I'll hex you in your sleep."  
  
Hermione goggled. "How'd you..."  
  
"End up in Slytherin? The hat offered me the choice, said I'd do well in either."  
  
"Why'd you choose...?"  
  
"_Black_ comes before _Snape_, Krum. I wanted as far away from _him_ as possible."  
  
"But why..."  
  
Snape's eyes flashed. Anger at her? Himself for giving so much away? "I think I'm done talking now."  
  
"But Severus..."  
  
"I think I am _quite done talking_ now, Krum."  
  
They headed for the front door, Snape's determined footfalls and her own rushed steps to keep up the only sound.


	4. These Fugue States

_Snape... almost a Gryffindor?  
  
_Hermione trotted behind Professor Snape, her mind whirling.  
  
Well, it wasn't like the Sorting Hat had never given anyone a choice before; she'd heard other students mention it. She herself was nearly sorted into Ravenclaw, Neville had confided that he was almost a Hufflepuff, and although Harry had refused to ever discuss it, she'd seen a queer, guilty look pass over his face more than a few times when the Sorting Hat was mentioned.  
  
And given Harry's suspicions that he was the Heir of Slytherin... Hermione had a fair guess as to which choice Harry'd been offered.  
  
The same one as Snape.  
  
She remembered Ron telling her about Malfoy insulting him... how disgusted Harry had been. If Malfoy had been sorted into Gryffindor... which house would Harry have chosen that first day?  
  
Snape was a member of the Order of the Phoenix... had spied on Death Eaters... had dared to defy Voldemort when doing so meant death, or worse...  
  
That took courage. Gryffindor courage. Hermione tried to imagine being surrounded by Death Eaters, knowing you could be found out at any moment...  
  
And Snape always tried to save them, didn't he? Even when he didn't have all the facts, even when he became a hindrance... he'd taken on Sirius Black _and_ Lupin for them...  
  
And Dumbledore trusted him... trusted him even now, trusted him with her...  
  
_What had he meant by 'not a very good Slytherin... but getting better every year?'_  
  
Hands on her shoulders, shaking her. Hermione looked up into Snape's face, mere inches from her own.  
  
"Krum, are you all right?"  
  
Hermione blinked. She could feel Snape's breath warm on her face, his hands pressing into her biceps. That spicy smell _was_ him, it seemed to hang in a haze around them. Had she ever been this close to him?  
  
"Krum. Krum. Say something."  
  
"Er... hello," Hermione said awkwardly.  
  
Snape let go of her, stepping back, crossing his arms. "Does this happen to you often?"  
  
"Does what happen?"  
  
"_This_. These... _fugue states_."  
  
"Fugue states?"  
  
Snape rolled his eyes to heaven. "Maybe we should have hidden you in Hufflepuff."  
  
Hermione's cheeks grew hot. "I'm _not_ stupid!"  
  
"Then I suggest you cease your parrot impersonation," Snape snapped.  
  
"I wasn't aware I was having 'fugue states', _Snape_."  
  
He moved a step closer, his voice lowered to a purr. "And do you even know what a 'fugue state' is?"  
  
"Fugue state," Hermione snapped, advancing on him. "A dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days; A pathological amnesiac condition during which one is apparently conscious of one's actions but has no recollection of them after returning to a normal state."  
  
"Fine," Snape held up his hands defensively... but the eyebrow was up again. He was impressed.  
  
Ah, but Hermione wasn't done with him yet. "From the Italian, _Fuga_. From the Latin word _fugere_, meaning 'to flee'..."  
  
"What did you do, Krum, memorize the dictionary?"  
  
Hermione blushed. "It was a holiday. I was bored."  
  
Snape blinked... and then burst out laughing.  
  
Had she ever seen Snape _laugh_ before?  
  
"Krum, you're..." Snape gasped for breath. "That's..."  
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Feel free to stop laughing at me at any time."  
  
"I'm not... I'm not laughing _at_ you. That just..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"... sounds like something I would do."  
  
Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes meeting Snape's... which were... _twinkling_.  
  
Jokes, laughter, twinkling eyes, nearly sorted into Gryffindor?  
  
_Yep, Granger. Alternate universe. Definitely._  
  
"Well," Hermione said, a smile growing at the corners of her lips, "Perhaps we should have both been in Ravenclaw."  
  
"Hey, Krum."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Aegis?"  
  
"Protection, support; sponsorship, patronage; guidance, direction, or control. Also can refer to armor." Hermione's eyes glinted. "Your turn. _Autochthonous_."  
  
"Formed or existing where found." Snape grinned. "Your turn. _Tintinnabulation_."  
  
"Oh, at least make them _challenging_!" Hermione said playfully.  
  
"Quit stalling and define the word, Krum."  
  
"Tintinnabulation... a tinkling sound, as of a bell or bells..."  
  
----  
  
"He did _not_!" Hermione gasped, setting down her mug of Butterbeer with rather too much force. "If you'd _read_ the book, it _clearly_ states that..."  
  
"It states in the _text_, certainly," Snape countered. "However, if you'd bothered to read the _footnotes_..."  
  
"Do you need anything else, dears?"   
  
Hermione and Snape looked up, and spoke simultaneously: "No thank you."  
  
Their eyes met; a moment of awkward silence.  
  
"I hate to tell you this, Krum, but you're a gigantic nerd," Snape said.  
  
"Says the cauldron to the kettle," Hermione replied primly, taking a sip of her drink. "I didn't think _anyone_ had read that book but me."  
  
Snape glanced at the clock, winced, and reached into his robes. "I've made an itemized list of the items we'll need to buy for you. Dumbledore said to charge his account..."  
  
"You made an... itemized list?"  
  
"Well... _yes_..." Snape shot her a confused glance, then spread his list over the table so she could see it. "It's divided into shop, by proximity... for efficiency."  
  
Hermione took the list, studying it, trying to keep the smile off her face.  
  
"What's so funny, Krum?"  
  
"Nothing. I like your list. Of course, my handwriting is _much_ better."  
  
"You're quite determined to harass me all day, aren't you, Krum?"  
  
"If necessary."  
  
----  
  
Hogsmeade, like Hogwarts, didn't seem to change much with time. They'd started at Gladrags, where Hermione had begun briskly collecting items in her size before remembering... she had no idea what size this body was.  
  
Snape followed her around the store, looking bored, never making a comment... but periodically, she'd discover that some ridiculous garment had found its way into her growing pile.   
  
When she'd look at Snape, he was the picture of innocence, rocking back and forth on his toes while examining the ceiling.  
  
The last -- and worst -- had been a pair of thong panties, embroidered with the Slytherin crest.  
  
"Decided to pick up a little something for yourself?" Hermione drawled, twirling the ridiculous underwear around her finger.  
  
"Krum, I have not the foggiest idea what you're rabbiting on about."  
  
She only caught the briefest flash of a grin as he pretended to be utterly absorbed in a display of socks.  
  
So, she did the reasonable, mature thing.  
  
She set down her pile, drew the panties back and slingshotted them into Snape's face.  
  
The sight of Severus Snape, his face covered in the hunter-green crotch of a pair of girls' underwear, would be a visual she'd treasure forever.  
  
She might have to get a Pensieve just to share with Harry and Ron.  
  
"Krum," Snape said slowly, reaching up with one elegant hand to remove the underwear dangling from his nose, "I'm afraid you leave me with no choice but to pick you up and stuff you headfirst in this bin of socks."  
  
"You wouldn't dare," Hermione laughed.  
  
"I regret to inform you that I very much _would_..."  
  
And suddenly, Snape had grabbed her from behind, yanking her up off the ground. Hermione struggled half-heartedly, letting out a shriek mostly for effect...  
  
_I think I might be enjoying this a little too much..._  
  
"Well, well," said a commanding voice behind them. "Fighting already?"  
  
Snape's hold on Hermione loosened, and she slid to the ground, whirling to look into the face of Dumbledore...  
  
Who was beaming so hard he was practically radiant.  
  
_I guess he's never seen Snape play, either..._  
  
"Well, I was just passing on my way to visit my brother," Dumbledore's eyes danced between the two of them, "And thought I'd check on your progress. I wish you both a most pleasant day."  
  
Hermione watched Dumbledore turn... and realized Snape's arms were still circling her.  
  
Snape apparently had the same realization; he froze, dropped his arms, and nearly leapt back from her.  
  
"Maybe I should get these for Dumbledore," Hermione grinned, holding up the panties that had started it all.  
  
"Krum... I realize that girls live for shopping, but I'd hate to miss the rest of my fifth year watching you primp. Could we accelerate this process?"  
  
The warmth had gone out of his voice, all humor dropped. Snape's eyes were merely impatient.  
  
_Oh... don't be... don't turn into _this_ guy again... we were having fun..._  
  
Snape stared at her impatiently.  
  
Fine. If he wanted to play the Let's Be Icy And Condescending Game, he'd soon discover that _no one_ played _that_ game better than Hermione Jane Granger.  
  
"But of course," Hermione replied, her nose jutting into the air. "I'd hate to disrupt your frantic social schedule. I'm certain you have incredibly important things to get back to... Remedial Divination, perhaps?"  
  
Giving her black ringlets a haughty toss -- and suppressing a thrill of joy at finally having hair that haughtily tossed itself properly -- Hermione snatched up her pile and headed to the counter.  
  
_And you can't even take off points_, she thought with savage satisfaction.


	5. Too Late

Hermione held the cauldron up to the light, examining it carefully. She'd worked quickly, methodically, through the aisles of Dervish and Banges, not wanting to irritate Snape any further, hoping for a return of his earlier good humor.  
  
It had not occurred.  
  
He was, theoretically, examining a shelf of Remembralls, but she felt his eyes upon her; suddenly, her choice of cauldron seemed critically important, here under the eyes of the man who would be her Potions master.  
  
_Why do I care so much what he thinks?_  
  
She'd courted his respect as a student, certainly; she was, after all, Hermione Granger. And he, of course, had never given it; he was, after all, Severus Snape.  
  
But now -- having seen the flashes of his quirky sense of humor, having finally felt the warmth of his approval, however fleeting -- it was addictive. She _needed_ to make him grin again, desperately wanted to see mischief twinkle in his eyes, longed to...  
  
_Dammit, Granger, stop that._  
  
She ran her hands down the cauldron, feeling for imperfections.  
  
"Krum."  
  
When had he snuck up behind her? When had his voice started causing her knees to go a little weak?  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you require assistance?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Snape," she replied in the same cold tone she'd affected all afternoon. "I'm picky about my cauldrons -- I have to be."  
  
"And why, pray tell, is that?"  
  
His breath, hot on the back of her neck. The warmth of him, like a field of energy behind her.  
  
"I'm afraid that where I come from -- my Potions master is a real _asshole_."  
  
The warmth fled; she heard him take a step backwards. "A Muggle curse, Krum? You must really hate him."  
  
"Oh, yes," she purred, setting the cauldron down and lifting another. "Everyone does, really. He's cold, condescending, and cruel. He belittles the students, making them nervous, and then punishes them unfairly for mistakes he goaded them into making. Oh... that's not quite true. The toady suckups from his own House, the ones that pander to him and stroke his _limp little ego_... _they_ can do no wrong."  
  
"Where you come from," Snape repeated, his voice unsteady.  
  
"Where I come from," Hermione agreed, plucking a cauldron at random and tucking it under his arm. "On the other hand -- why should I care what he thinks? Some pathetic, sad, ugly, dried-up, _greasy_ little man?"  
  
"T-that cauldron has a weak spot on the underside," Snape stuttered.  
  
"So what?"  
  
Snape snatched the cauldron from her hands, banging it down on the shelf. "So they should not be allowed to sell substandard merchandise, and I won't have your ignorance funding their duplicity."  
  
He whirled, selecting another. "This one, however, is excellent."  
  
"And Krum..." Snape slammed the cauldron into her chest, leaning over it to whisper in her ear. "Hogwarts is the only school of magic with Houses. I suggest you concoct a better backstory."  
  
Hermione blinked, clutching the cauldron to her chest.  
  
"Although, I must admit, the fictional Potions master was a lovely touch. Potter and Black might object to your plagiarism, however... perhaps you three can discuss it when I tell the Headmaster I want nothing more to do with you."  
  
"Severus..."  
  
"The next time you incorporate me into your fictions, Krum, kindly appoint me as instructing Defense Against The Dark Arts. I think you'll find I know the material better."  
  
"I wasn't... I wasn't talking about you..."  
  
Snape whirled, fixing her with a cold stare. "Pathetic? Sad? Ugly? Dried up? Greasy? I'll own those adjectives, Krum. But I must insist that I am not, and never have been, quite _that_ stupid."  
  
Hermione's stomach dropped to the floor. "But you're not..."  
  
"Oh, I think you'll find that I very much _am_, Krum. I'm just impressed you picked up on it so quickly. And if I read my inferior handwriting correctly, that cauldron was the last item you required. I suggest you pay for it so that you may be freed from my pathetic, sad, ugly, company."  
  
"Severus, I..."  
  
"We've covered my faults in a bit of detail, Krum. Kindly conclude your business before I feel compelled to enlighten you as to yours. I'll wait for you outside."  
  
Hermione watched him go, cold creeping around the edges of her mind. Why, why, why had she said those things? Now she'd never be able to repair the damage...  
  
_Well, why is he so damned touchy? I never said I was talking about him, and I certainly didn't do anything to deserve the silent treatment he's been giving me!_  
  
She seethed as her supplies were tallied and bagged, watching him through the window. A light rain had begun to fall, and Snape leaned against the railing, all _broody_ in his black robes.  
  
_Oh, I bet you think you look so _tragic_, Snape. Well, you don't. You look like a big whinging baby, that's what you look like, a sulky, pouty, touchy, immature..._  
  
"Miss?"  
  
"Oh. Thank you." Hermione took the sack the woman had been holding out to her. "Have a nice day."  
  
"You too, dearie. Hard to accomplish, with that one..."  
  
Hermione banged out the door, glaring in Snape's direction. "You wanted to go so damned badly, let's go."  
  
"Language, Krum," Snape hissed, pushing himself off the post in one elegant movement. "It displays a want of breeding... _Impervious_..."  
  
Of course, the slimy bastard had made sure the spell only covered his own head. With her wand in her pocket and her hands full, Hermione could merely blink as the rain coated her...  
  
And then drenched her, as the skies opened up and the drizzle became a downpour.  
  
"That's it," Hermione snapped. "This is ridiculous. If you won't be the tiniest bit of a gentleman, _I'm_ taking cover."  
  
She turned on her heel, heading for The Shrieking Shack.  
  
"Krum, you amazing idiot. Don't go in there."  
  
"Why not?" She kicked the gate open, continuing up the path.  
  
"It's the Shrieking Shack. It's... it's haunted. No one goes in there. No one with a brain..."  
  
Hermione peered up through the downpour. The moon was a sliver in the sky.  
  
"Oh, it's perfectly fine. I'm going in."  
  
Snape stopped in his tracks, staring at her.  
  
"You can come in or not. I don't care."  
  
"Oh, Krum," Snape growled under his breath, "I'm _definitely_ coming in..."  
  
Hermione's eyes widened at the change in tone, but she sailed through the door Snape wrenched open regardless, dropping her pile on a chair.  
  
She jumped when Snape slammed the door behind them, cursing herself for showing weakness.  
  
"Krum," Snape purred, his voice low and deadly, "I believe you and I need to have a chat."  
  
"I don't believe I wish to chat with you on any topic."  
  
"I believe you wish to chat with me on this one." Snape grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her to face him. "And I believe you will."  
  
"Get off me," Hermione snapped, squirming under his hold.  
  
"I shall get off you," Snape growled, "The moment you explain to me why you looked at the moon before deciding to come in here."  
  
The blood drained from Hermione's face.  
  
"Go ahead, Krum."  
  
"I didn't... I didn't look at the moon."  
  
"Oh... I very much believe that you _did_."  
  
"I looked... I looked up. To see how hard it was raining."  
  
The pressure on her shoulder intensified. "Krum, you were practically drowning. You knew how hard it was raining."  
  
"You're hurting my shoulder."  
  
"I think you'd like to share with me just how much you know about Mr. Moony."  
  
"I don't know _anything_ about Lupin, I..."  
  
Snape's eyes glittered in triumph, and Hermione realized her mistake too late.


	6. The Most Noble House Of Black

The tip of Snape's wand pressed lightly into Hermione's throat, his lips at her ear, his voice a dangerous growl. "Let me assure you, Krum, this would not be the first time your friends have used a female to humiliate me. It will, however, be the last."  
  
"I'm... not... friends with them," Hermione gasped, struggling for breath. It was so hot in here, when did it get so hot in here? A lock of Snape's hair had escaped its tie, sliding against her jaw, and his breath against her earlobe was burning...  
  
"While I'd _love_ to believe you, it's been my experience that Lupin's... how shall we say... _time of the month_... is not a facet of his life he shares with just anyone."  
  
How could she have screwed up so badly? Hermione's eyes darted around the room, looking for a weapon, looking for an exit, a distraction... but all she saw was a hundred reflections of her and Snape in a broken, grimy mirror...  
  
Reflections...  
  
"I'm related to Black," she panted.  
  
"The Most Noble House of Black practically posts their family tree on billboards, Krum. I believe I'd have noticed you."  
  
"I'm his half-sister," she whispered, her mind working frantically. "My mother was a Muggle... it would be a huge scandal..."   
  
The pressure on her throat eased a fraction as Snape drew back, gazing into her face, his eyes roaming over her long black hair, her gray eyes...  
  
His face relaxed a fraction, then hardened again. "That doesn't explain how you know about Lupin."  
  
"I tried to find my father... I didn't know... Mom never t-told me, I-I found letters my mother had... I went to Grimmauld Place..."  
  
She saw the correct name register in Snape's eyes.  
  
"I talked to Kreacher..."  
  
Point two.  
  
"I-I overheard them talking in the kitchen... Potter and Black, talking about Lupin... and then Kreacher came back, said my father didn't want to see me... t-threw me out..."  
  
The wand dropped away from her throat, and Hermione saw yet another unprecedented look in Snape's eyes...  
  
Total sympathy.  
  
"And now, of course, they want you wiped out," Snape spat, furious...   
  
Furious... but not at her. "Can't have a blemish on The Most Noble House of Black... I suppose Sirius doesn't know you exist?"  
  
He didn't wait for her answer, the disgust dripping from his voice. "Of course he wouldn't. Wouldn't want precious little Sirius knowing that his father was a _Blood Traitor_... never mind that Sirius shows every inclination of following in Daddy's footsteps..."  
  
Snape was practically spitting nails, pacing the floor. Hermione watched him, stunned. She hadn't expected her story to have _this_ effect on him...  
  
"Krum, I..." Snape broke off, something that was almost a laugh escaping his throat. "I suppose that's not your real name, is it?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, still dazed.  
  
Snape shook his head. "I'm... I'm sorry."  
  
_That's it,_ Hermione thought. _It's official, I've gone insane, I thought I just heard Snape apologize to me... the nice men from St. Mungo's should be here any minute with the pretty white coats..._  
  
"I'm sorry I yelled, I'm sorry I... did I hurt your shoulder badly?"  
  
"N-no..."  
  
He seemed to glide across the room. "Let me see it, Krum. I can't believe I..."  
  
And his hands were at her throat, unbuttoning her cloak, his fingers as nimble on the serpentine clasp as hers had been clumsy.   
  
Hermione forgot how to breathe, her knees buckling. He was so near, the scent of him rising around her, his face so close to hers...  
  
He caught her with one arm, pulled her upright.   
  
"Merlin, Krum... I really scared you, didn't I?" he murmured sorrowfully. "And after everything you've been through..."  
  
Scared? Had she been scared? She couldn't remember, couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but the heat of him as he pushed her cloak down, the backs of his fingers gently brushing across her shoulder...  
  
Their eyes met and held, and Hermione felt panic rising under a warm, heavy layer of... something else, her lips parting, her body leaning into his, a mind of its own...  
  
_Get yourself together, Granger! You're about to kiss a sadistic freak who had his wand at your throat a minute ago! Have some self-control, or at least some pride!_  
  
But it was Snape who looked away, Snape who briskly and efficiently reattached the clasp of her cloak, Snape who moved to the other corner of the room, leaving an aching, cold absence in his wake.  
  
"Well, I certainly understand your situation better now, Krum," Snape was saying... _how long had he been talking?_...   
  
Hermione realized that Snape was staring at her expectantly.  
  
"I'm... I'm sorry," she whispered. "What did you say?"  
  
"I asked if you were hungry," Snape said simply. "It's been a while since breakfast..."  
  
No condescension, no impatience, no eye-rolling, no snarky comments...  
  
In one frantic lie, she'd somehow managed to convince Snape that they were playing on the same team. But how? And why?  
  
She'd wanted this all day, longed for it... and now she felt nothing but icy terror.  
  
_I could hurt him. Oh god, I could hurt him so badly now..._  
  
What the -- where had _that_ come from? Hurt _him_? He'd been the one with the wand at her throat, the one with her backed against a wall, pinned with his body, threatening her, demanding the exact kind of answers she needed not to give!   
  
Making her feel... weird!   
  
So where was all this... _guilt_ coming from? She'd lied to Snape a hundred times, broken into his office, Stunned him... and none of it, ever, had made her feel the way this did...  
  
She looked into his eyes, and realized what the problem was.  
  
_He wants to trust me. And worse... I think he does._


End file.
